


Hard, Harder, Hardest

by stew (julie)



Category: The Hard Way (1991)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1993-09-05
Updated: 1993-09-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22702585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: Lieutenant John Moss is absolutely livid about having to play wet-nurse to a dorky Hollywood actor who’s researching Real Cops for a role he’s after – but maybe there are a few things Moss can learn from Nick Lang in return.
Relationships: nick lang/john moss
Comments: 2





	Hard, Harder, Hardest

**Author's Note:**

> **First published:** in my zine Homosapien #3 on 5 September 1993.

# Hard, Harder, Hardest 

♦

Unbe-fucking-lievable. Captain Brix, once considered a sensible and fair boss, had pulled Lieutenant John Moss off the murder case of his life just when Moss finally had a lead, and set him up to be wet-nurse to a dork of a Hollywood actor – who wanted to learn all about Real Cops for a role he was after, and had come all the way to New York to do so. Didn’t they have Real Cops in Los Angeles who Nick Lang could go bother? Ones who were used to puerile little actors running around mindlessly as if the bullets were all blanks and the bad guys would take their black hats off at the end of the day? 

But, no. The Captain was a fan of the little maggot so, in return for a moronic autograph for Brix’s wife ( _to Norma, bang bang Nick Lang_ ), anything Nick wanted, Nick got. Including moving in on Moss’s life. Including screwing up Moss’s investigation and, metaphorically at least, piling him in shit. Including inciting a gang war and leaving Moss’s police car in the middle of it – which was why they were currently driving around in a car impounded from one of New York’s flashier pimps. Yeah – and Brix probably figured Moss wouldn’t dare continue his investigation in such an eyesore. 

Seeing as nothing else was happening, Moss decided it was time for some lunch, time to show the moron a little New York hospitality, and time to phone Susan about that date he’d been trying to keep… Which might be the only bonus in being off the murder investigation – he wouldn’t be called into work at every hour of the clock. Moss pulled in at his regular lunch stop, and headed for the pay-phone. 

“Hi, Bonnie. Is your mother home?” Moss turned his back in an effort to keep this confidential. Hopefully Nick Lang was too busy buying frogdogs to listen in – though no doubt he would show an unwanted interest in Moss’s love life (or lack thereof) along with everything else. “No, this isn’t Mr. Tiber,” Moss said to Bonnie, “this is –” He almost swore at her interruption, but remembered in time that the brat was only nine years old. “No, it’s not Frankie, either. Or Alphonse!” This time, Moss didn’t let Bonnie draw breath. “What are these, like, guys your mom works with or something?” he asked with only a hint of suspicion. “No, this is John Moss –” 

Too late – the brat had hung up without even telling him if Susan was in. A glance to see if anyone in the vicinity had noticed, then Moss continued talking to the dial tone, “OK, OK, then I’ll call back later. Bye.” He wondered briefly if that had been more or less foolish than being hung up on by his girlfriend’s daughter. Though he was beginning to fear the term _girlfriend_ was more wishful thinking than not – he’d had to break as many dates with Susan as the handful he’d kept. 

With a pretense of nonchalance, Moss wandered over to where Lang stood at the hot dog stand. “Yo, Bill,” Moss said to the proprietor. 

“How ya doin’, Lieutenant?” Bill asked, and served up the frogdogs. 

Apparently Lang wanted to learn how to eat a frogdog just like Moss did, which might be incredibly useful for this role he was after – extra mustard, extra sauce, dump the chips in the dog, cram the bread roll closed, and take a generous mouthful, just so. 

With a fair approximation of Moss’s nonchalance, Lang offered him some advice: “Next time, invite the kid.” 

“What?” 

“On your date – bring the daughter along.” 

_Terrific. As predicted_. Moss tried to deflect further discussion. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” 

“Single mother,” the actor explained. “Daughter never had a dad, doesn’t trust men, especially the ones that have been hanging around her mom, so now you want to get next to this woman, but you can’t catch a break from the kid.” 

Moss, interested despite himself, shrugged at Bill, who seemed to have heard it all before. 

“I know…” Lang said with what was presumably meant to be a modest smile. “It’s a gift.” 

“Why would I want to bring the daughter along?” Moss found himself asking the kid he’d dubbed Dick-less Tracy not two hours before. “I mean –” He interrupted himself: “Oh never mind – what the hell am I talking about this with you for?” 

That seemed to shut Lang up – he soon started talking again, but at least it was on a different topic. Mouth full of frogdog, Nick observed, with all the pomp of a quote from Confucius, “Be good to your bowels, and they will be good to you.”

Moss could shrug that one off without much trouble. He went to sit on an old bench car-seat amidst all the ruined splendor of a New York vacant lot, and Nick Lang sat by him. Moss took out a cigarette, and so did Nick. Moss threw it into his mouth from habit, and Lang threw his – and missed entirely. This was going too far. “OK, knock that shit off!” Moss yelled. “All right? It’s like carrying a god-damned mirror around. Don’t eat like me,” he told the kid, “don’t sit like me – do not smoke like me!” Then he added, disgruntled, “I’m trying to quit anyway.” 

“Yeah, me, too,” said Lang. 

“And don’t quit like me, either!” Moss snapped. “All right?” 

“John –” Nick said patiently, “an actor’s job –” 

“Lang – I don’t care.” Moss crossed his arms, trying to hold in the anger. And, of course, the kid copied even that movement. “Just stop!” 

Nick pleaded, “How am I supposed to get inside your skin –” 

Moss decided to make it really plain to the little shithead. “I don’t want you inside my skin! It’s private. What’s in there belongs to me.” And he tried to tell Lang how serious all this was, that he couldn’t just ride in and learn how to be a cop by imitating everything Moss did, that he didn’t have the first idea of the tough decisions, the dedication and the sacrifice required of a cop every damn day – “We live this job,” he said in conclusion, “it’s something we are – not something we do.” 

And just when he thought he’d really got through to Nick at last, just when he figured Lang had listened and understood, the moron exclaimed, “Fuuuck – was that great!” and wanted him to repeat it all for the benefit of his little cassette recorder. “John Moss,” Nick whispered into it as a reverent introduction: “the meaning of life.” 

Moss threw the recorder far far away. 

♦

“So when Bonnie’s been sent to bed, then you ease your arms around Susan, snuggle in real close, and kiss her – not on the mouth right away, try her throat maybe, like Deckard in _Blade Runner_ , and slowly work around to her lips. Then you’re in like Flynn,” Nick finished with a triumphant flourish. 

Moss gazed sourly at the kid across the table. Moss’s apartment – his nice, tasteful, peaceful, _calm_ apartment – his only sanctuary in the craziness of New York City – even his apartment had been invaded by Nick Lang. First his job and his investigation, then his home, and now his personal life. But Moss wanted to learn, despite the teacher – Susan was worth ten times this annoyance and embarrassment. “And you reckon,” Moss started, each clause chipping in vain at Nick’s confidence, “that her cooking the dinner, and me bringing the wine –” 

“– and the flowers –” 

“– and the video for Bonnie – a _Nick Lang_ movie, I suppose – and then me kissing her _throat_ like some god-damned Hollywood star, will be enough to convince Susan to fuck me.” 

“Make love with you,” Nick corrected mildly. He seemed to consider it a brilliant plan. “Yeah, of course. She likes you. So how could she resist?” 

Moss felt the familiar fury rise in him. It was only an enormous effort of will that kept him seated, that kept the fury contained within his frame of muscle, bone and bile. He yanked his packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, and spilled half of them across the table. On his third throw, he got one in his mouth. But then his lighter would only produce a spark. Life did these hateful little things to him on a regular basis. 

Nick’s hand closed over his. “Let me.” 

Moss watched in disbelief as the kid leant over to light his cigarette with movements Nick obviously thought were suave. He remembered to breathe in when Nick held the flame close. 

The kid really irritated Moss. But Nick seemed to have a hell of a lot of things figured out, that Moss had missed entirely. Maybe he’d been too busy being a cop for too long. “How could _she_ resist?” Moss repeated bitterly. He knew he was going to blurt out the truth – he knew it shouldn’t be this… no, it wasn’t _easy_ to say the words at last. More like inevitable. He found himself telling Nick Lang the most personal things. “It’s _me_ that’s the problem.” Maybe because Nick’s advice had so far worked on Susan a treat. And Moss was desperate for Susan, for Susan’s love, for Susan’s passion. “I’m impotent.” He wanted someone in his life again, and not just any old someone. He wanted the warmth and the flesh and the joy and the smarts of Susan to unravel the cold choking knot of anger that was a physical presence within him. “What the hell use am I to her?” Because she was a full-blooded woman, nice but full of life, sometimes reserved but gutsy with it, and simply gorgeous. “I’m fucking impotent!” 

That little confession seemed to have set the kid back a pace but, as Moss watched, the cheerful surety soon returned. “John, I really appreciate you confiding in me. That’s lovely, really lovely.” 

“Yeah. And what remedy from the movies do you have for me now?” Moss lit another cigarette with the butt of the last one. 

“Just… go with the flow, man. Relax. Like Steve Martin said in _L.A. Story_ : _Let your mind go, and your body will follow_.” 

“Sure.” Moss threw a frustrated glare skyward. 

“Trust me on this one – just kiss her, like I said. Don’t be thinking, don’t be worrying about it. Just let it happen.”

“Very useful,” Moss put in sarcastically. 

“See Susan as the solution, not the problem.” 

“What the hell am I talking to you about it for, anyway?” 

“John, John,” the kid said, and he placed his hand over Moss’s again. Moss hated it when Nick did that. “You’ve got to let me help. You’re in bad shape.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know.” _Life_ , he imagined Captain Brix saying to him: _you got two ways to deal with it. You got the easy way, you got_ … 

“OK, OK,” Nick murmured, thinking hard. Inspiration struck. “OK, here’s what you do. You head in there,” and he gestured towards the bathroom, “have a nice hot relaxing shower, then go get comfortable in your bed, and give yourself a nice slow one with the works.” 

The incredible _presumption_ of the kid. “You want me to go jerk myself off?” Moss asked flatly. 

“Start feeling good about yourself. Lie back and let your tensions go.” 

“What’s the point? I want to do all that with _Susan_ , for god’s sake.” 

“If you do it alone first, then the pressure’s off when you’re with her – you’ll _know_ it will be all right.” 

“I should have expected cheap pop psychology.” But his retorts had lost their fervor somewhere. Moss gazed at Nick for a long moment, then stood and headed for the window – but he couldn’t get away from the kid. A fifty-foot animated replica of Nick’s face and hand dominated the view, advertising his latest stupid movie at the local cinema. Moss lifted his cigarette to his lips for the tiny nicotine high of a breath – life was bearable for that one too-brief moment – then realized he was unintentionally echoing the replica’s movements. Dry-ice smoke poured from the enormous fake lips. Moss turned his back on the scene and slumped wearily, propped himself on the window sill. 

_Bad posture_ , his ex-wife would have observed. _You smoke too much, you never talk to me, you work crazy hours_. He’d once made the mistake of asking her whether she truly thought their marriage was worth more of his time than his fight against crime, the lives he’d saved, the violence he’d wiped from the city streets. _You’re no good in the sack_ , she’d finally added by the end. _You never were_. And Susan was in danger of making the same complaints. He’d already promised her to try to kick the cigarettes. 

It was easier to think of all the niggling annoyances that made up Nick Lang. The kid was watching him now, that alert glint in his eye, as he observed every move Moss made. It had been so aggravating at first – Nick trying to copy every expression, every gesture, every word. As if the self-conscious Moss wasn’t full of self-loathing already. But suddenly it all seemed absurdly flattering instead. This kid had seen him for a few brief moments on the news, decided that Moss was his image of the best and toughest cop ever, and dropped everything to head to the other side of the States just to learn from him. No one had ever paid Moss that much attention. Except Susan, maybe, on their first date. After that, she seemed mostly puzzled by him, though willing to try to understand. He was going to lose her soon if he didn’t take the next step, make the relationship a real one… 

“All right,” Moss said. He walked back to the table where Nick still sat, and stubbed out the cigarette. “Early night tonight.” 

Nick gave him a cheeky grin. “Enjoy yourself, John.” 

Moss glared at the kid, though there was no malice to it. “Get some sleep.” 

♦

The water, as hot and hard as he could take it, felt good. Moss stood, head bowed, his neck and shoulders bearing the force of it, his hands palm to the wall taking his weight. If he concentrated on that feeling, the pummel of the water against his skin, the heat of it easing his muscles, the streams sliding down his soaped-up body – if he thought oh-so-carefully of how good and simple it was, then all the frustrations and fears and hates of his life receded too far within to bother him. If he thought at all about how precious and fragile that peace was, it would shatter. Moss stood very very still and let the water ease him. 

When the hot finally gave out, even the cold water didn’t faze him – instead, it was invigorating. Moss turned the faucet off. Shook himself and grinned, before toweling off. 

He padded out through the lounge, heading for the bedroom, before remembering he was naked and he had a guest. 

Nick, while obediently lying in the sofa-bed, was peering over the covers at him, eyes brightly amused. “Looking good, Lieutenant.” 

“Go to sleep!” But Moss grinned again, surprising himself. He turned, on his dignity, and headed for the haven of his own room. 

That’s when it all started to go wrong. 

The sheets were crisp coolness against his skin – that was nice. Moss found he already had the tingling beginnings of an erection – that was heartening. He had forgotten how well his right palm and fingers fitted his need. Susan, with all her warm concern, was clear in his mind’s eye. 

But then a ludicrous image took her place – Nick Lang at McSorley’s bar, putting on effeminate airs, saying _Pretend I’m Susan_ , trying to get Moss to practice communicating with his lady love by acting as an improbable surrogate. Moss was sure everyone in the bar had seen the little idiot making simpering eyes at him. God knows what they thought. He hadn’t been back there since. 

And the bright gaze now – Moss could almost feel it through the closed door. 

It was suddenly ridiculous, that Nick Lang had told him to go jerk off, and here he was trying to – Nick knowing all the while exactly what he was attempting. How the hell could he do this intensely private personal thing, with that moron out there…? 

Moss hated feeling ridiculous. He was a New York cop, for god’s sake; he shouldn’t _have_ to feel that way, but life thwarted and humiliated him at every turn. Nick Lang was just the icing – and the flowers and bride and groom – on the cake. 

“Make a bloody fool of me,” Moss muttered, rising from his bed in one lethal move. He couldn’t let the kid get away with this. Before he knew it, he was at the door, flinging it open. Whatever he had expected to see, the last thing was – 

Nick Lang, half-sitting propped up against pillows, face dreamy, gaze on the bedroom door, arm moving in unmistakable strokes. Then, as the kid realized he was gazing at Moss himself rather than the door, he rose to his knees on the bed, covers falling about him, and swayed there for long moments, clumsy and at a loss. 

Irrelevancies registered on Moss’s senses – the kid’s shoulders were wider than Moss would have expected, his chest all well-defined muscle where he’d imagined puppy fat – Nick’s face was flushed with arousal, eyes sparkling and unfocussed – he was nicely endowed, fully erect – 

Apparently confused, the kid said, “What are you –” 

Moss’s anger pushed him forward. “You get your thrills this way,” he hissed, striding to the make-shift bed, “do you? Jerking off out here, while I’m doing the same in there –” he gestured wildly towards his own bed – “and you’re thinking of me?” 

Nick was staring at him, wide-eyed, heaven knows what running through his shifting expression. “Thinking of you,” he repeated, hushed, like he was maybe coming to a conclusion. 

“Setting me up like that – I ought to –” Moss stuttered for a moment, trying to think of a fate cruel enough for the stupid little brat. It shouldn’t have been difficult – the fates were cruel enough to him, after all. He had plenty of examples to choose from.

“Yeah,” Nick breathed, the confidence a ring in his voice again. “You ought to.” 

Moss abruptly realized, with the force of all the week’s embarrassments heaped together, that he was standing up against the bed, and Nick was a mere hand-span away, kneeling there naked and as crazy as ever. The kid didn’t understand the meaning of danger, thought he could provoke Moss with as few consequences as if they were reading from a script. Moss almost took a step away, but he’d never found it easy to back down. “I ought to what!” he spat. 

“I don’t know.” There was a mixture of coyness and wonder in those words. Nick was staring at him – _all_ of him – as if hypnotized. “What did you have in mind?” 

“ _Killing_ you!” Moss flung his hands up in frustration. 

Nick caught one of Moss’s hands in his, held it against his chest. “Doesn’t happen like this in the movies,” he whispered. 

One of them had definitely lost the plot somewhere in this conversation. Too many of Moss’s conversations didn’t make sense to him, just like this. “ _What_ doesn’t happen?” 

“Maybe you’d expect a bit of rivalry, Susan choosing between us…” Nick lifted his free hand and tentatively placed it at Moss’s waist. He flexed his fingers, as if savoring the touch of skin on skin. 

Now _that_ was a topic Moss could latch on to. He let Nick’s hand go, grabbed his shoulders, and tried to shake some sense into the kid. “Susan likes you?” he muttered, intense. He couldn’t quite understand that, but, “It’s true, then, all that about women going for New Age wimps, all quiche and sensitivity? She likes you better than me?” 

But all Nick said, with great confidence, was, “ _You_ like me, John.” 

“The hell I –” The protest was smothered by an enthusiastic, if inexpert, kiss. After a long moment of incomprehension, Moss broke away. “What the fuck was that?” 

Nick grinned and, having twisted his arms around Moss’s waist, tugged them both over onto the bed. The springs bounced crazily with the sudden weight. “What do you reckon, Lieutenant?” 

“You mad son of a –” Moss struggled to free himself from the energetic embrace, hindered by the sofa-bed’s give, confused by the hands running everywhere over him, the feel of limbs tangled up with his, the mouth hungrily feeding on his skin… “Lang! For god’s sake!” 

His mind replayed his own words for him again and again, as he kept up the futile struggle. Did he sound more excited than aggravated? Was Nick going to interpret that as pleading rather than protesting? Evidently so… 

“You’re incredible,” the kid was murmuring in between running kisses and bites across his chest and shoulders. “Magnificent.” 

Moss groaned in annoyance. “Will you get the hell _off_ me?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nick briefly interrupted himself to say. 

“Christ!” Moss managed to free his arms, but Nick promptly had him pinned on his back. From that position there were three particularly nasty things he had been trained to do to dislodge and disarm – or kill – an attacker, but Moss supposed they weren’t called for… just yet. “You hear me, kid? Let me go!” 

Nick drew back a little to focus those bright eyes on him. “You don’t mean it.” 

Once again the kid was seeing only what he wanted to see. “Give me a break: you’re not worth lying to.” 

“You’re speaking from up here.” Nick reached to tap a finger against Moss’s skull. “But you should listen to what the rest of you is saying…” 

“Now _that_ sounds like a cliché from the movies, if ever I heard one,” Moss said sourly. Which was when Nick’s hand crept between them and wrapped itself around ample proof of Moss’s interest. A few surprisingly knowing strokes from that presumptuous hand during a long quiet moment… 

…and Moss heaved up – the kid didn’t hamper him this time. It seemed a decision had been made, and it was only his brain still lagging behind. Moss rolled to lie over the kid’s eager body, grabbed Nick’s hips and hauled him closer to fit under his need, just so, and began a strong rhythmic thrust that would quickly take him to the place he hadn’t been in so damned long… 

“John – wait for me, John,” Nick panted. “Oh god, you’re incredible.” 

It took maybe the most effort he’d ever been called on to make. “This enough for you?” he asked on a heavy breath, slowing the pace a little, refining the push of his hunger against Nick’s so that he felt the pressure just _there_ , the friction just _here_. Perfect. 

“Yeah…” The kid matched him thrust for thrust, with more energy than skill. “Yeah, John,” he encouraged him, “like that!” 

Moss arched up, then bent to bite at the kid’s nipples. 

Nick groaned an urgent, “Yeah, _now_ …” 

And Moss let go of the hastily grasped control, fell into sweet powerful indulgence, following Nick to blessed completion and beyond. Heaven on earth for one long bright holy moment. Peace and goodwill for all, but most particularly for John Moss. 

Then cold reality crashing in on him. 

He’d just had sex with Nick Lang, for god’s sake. 

Moss pushed free of the quiet body and lay alone on the unfamiliar bed. He wondered vaguely what Captain Brix and his wife would think of what he’d done – they’d probably want a blow-by-blow description… _Bang bang Nick Lang_ , Moss thought with wry whimsy. 

Well, it hadn’t been that bad, but what a hell of a situation to have to live with. The consequences didn’t bear thinking about… All the petty terrible embarrassing stupid annoying ramifications. Life was an absolute shit sometimes. 

“It’s certainly not like this in the movies,” the kid eventually said. 

“Maybe not the movies _you’re_ in,” Moss retorted, resenting even that much of an instinctive input to the fledgling conversation. 

Nick rolled up on to an elbow beside him, still not touching. “That was – amazing.” 

Moss gave a non-committal grunt. Surely it shouldn’t have even been _possible_ to get so carried away with someone he hated, loathed and detested. 

“You’ve done this before? With a guy, I mean.” 

After a long silence, with Nick simply waiting patiently for his response, not badgering him, Moss looked across at the kid. He did, Moss supposed, deserve something from him. It was only fair to acknowledge that. “Misspent youth,” he offered in brief explanation. 

Nick laughed. “If only I’d had one of those.” His face grew serious then, and Moss stared at him. The kid for once looked more a man than a brat. “They _all_ treat me like a kid,” he was saying. “Nobody wants me to grow up, they’re all making too much money from me being Peter Pan, and they don’t reckon I can make the transition. Nobody treats me like an adult. And that includes –” A pause for the only hint of self-consciousness that Moss had ever witnessed in Nick Lang. Fascinating… especially when he knew the kid wasn’t _that_ good an actor. “That includes the few girlfriends I’ve had.” 

“Nick, you don’t have to –” 

But the kid plunged on, regardless. “I’m not a virgin, that’s not it. But it’s been all teenage stuff – quick and easy and meaningless. That, with you, was the first time anyone’s treated me like –” 

“– an adult,” Moss finished for him. Hell of an unreal crazy life the kid had led. Sheltered from everything. “How old are you?” 

“Twenty-three,” Nick said. “Look more like seventeen, don’t I? I know – _and_ act like it, too.” He grinned, rueful. “What about you?” 

Moss sighed, said with some resentment, “Thirty-three.” And waited for the kid’s reaction. People always thought he was forty-something. It was the anger, and the weariness and the loneliness, eating away at him, making him old. 

Nick whispered, “Right now, you look more my age.” 

“Don’t flatter me, kid.” Though he was surprised at this compliment, misguided though it was, from someone so self-centered, so self-involved. 

“Well…” Nick grinned at him, though Moss could see through the cheekiness to the terrible vulnerability. “You’re not going to call me _kid_ anymore. Are you?” 

Moss frowned at him. He should get up, go back to his own bed. Dream of Susan and pretend this never happened. Leave Lang to his own devices. But Nick was smiling, a more genuine expression now, and Moss felt sated and relaxed for the first time in too long. A hand wandered lazily across his chest. 

“So this is Real Life,” the kid was musing. 

“Or a reasonable facsimile thereof,” Moss offered. 

“Yeah…” Nick breathed a happy sigh. “Incredible, Lieutenant…” The hand was slowly walking down Moss’s stomach. “ _I’m fucking impotent_ , he tells me,” the kid was gently mocking him. Moss closed his eyes as Nick’s hand found its goal, coaxed and teased the hunger in him. “Felt like lots of _fucking_ and damned little _impotent_ to me.” 

“Don’t go starting something you can’t finish, Nick.” 

“Why don’t you show me a little more Real Life, Lieutenant?” 

Moss grinned in sudden wry humor. “I guess this is as real as it ever gets.” The blood in him was stirring like it hadn’t for years, the anger and frustration had receded too far to reach for, and even his dislike of Nick had taken a backseat. All that mattered was the bright potent need in him, and the willing solution waiting beside him. 

And not just passively waiting – provoking him, enticing him, even manipulating him. 

Moss wanted this very badly. But he didn’t want Nick to have it all his own way. He rolled up on his side so they lay facing each other. “I’ll show you what fucking feels like,” Moss said, low and intense. “Can you take that much Real Life, Nick?” 

“Yeah,” the kid breathed, almost as needy as Moss was. “Whatever you want.” 

Moss ran a hand through Nick’s thick mop of hair, grabbed a handful at the nape of his neck, tilted his head back ready for a kiss. He growled, “But if you say _Pretend I’m Susan_ again, I’ll kill you.” And he let their mouths mesh. 

♦

The kid was heading back to L.A., this was goodbye, and Moss never got sentimental but there was something he had to say, and he knew he would never manage it at the airport. Despite that imperative, Nick was at the front door of the apartment before Moss called to him. 

Nick stood there looking at him, and of course this was so incredibly difficult, but Moss owed it to the kid… 

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Nick let his sports bag drop to the floor – all he had to show for his trip to the Big Apple, given that he’d had his luggage stolen his first day in. 

The silence lengthened. Moss let his gaze wander around the apartment. Both Nick and Susan had been surprised at this place, no doubt expecting something small and dark and neglected. Nick had called it _fresh_ , which was fine. 

Moss had to give more of himself – that was a lesson they had both taught him these last few days. He couldn’t be so private and still expect people to know him, to like him. They shouldn’t have been so _surprised_ , for god’s sake, to find out he was a civilized human being. 

“Plane’s gonna leave without me,” Nick said. 

But here he was, finding it nigh impossible just to acknowledge – 

“You wouldn’t want me stuck here in New York another day, would you?” the kid was asking, cheerfully mocking him. “Wouldn’t want me along on your date with Susan tonight, would you?” 

“I just want to –” Moss managed. 

“– thank me,” Nick supplied, “for letting you fuck me senseless.” 

“You were already senseless.” 

Nick smiled. “It was my pleasure, Lieutenant.” 

“Yeah.” Moss sighed, took the little courage he had in both hands. “You helped me. I owe you for that. You helped me with Susan.” 

For once Nick seemed to have nothing to say. He stared at Moss for a moment, then walked closer to him. 

“You’re not a kid anymore, you hear me?” 

“I hear you,” Nick said. “And you don’t owe me anything.” He glanced away for a moment, as if considering – when he turned to Moss again, he moved in for a kiss before Moss had time to defend himself. 

Long moments later, Lang broke away, grinning. Reluctantly at first, Moss grinned, too. 

“Incredible, Lieutenant…” Nick said as he walked out the door. “Incredible.”

♦


End file.
